An Awfully Big Adventure
by tragicbeauty1991
Summary: Losing a mother taught him how to grow up.  Losing a father will teach him how to become a man.  Sequel to "A Wendy's Farewell." Rated K  for character death.


**Author's Note: Hey, everyone! Well, I must admit, this is probably one of my most depressing stories so far (which is weird because I'm actually in a very good mood!), but I am quite proud of it nonetheless. And it has a happy ending...sort of...Anyway, this story is primarily based off of the 2003 version of _Peter Pan_, though I have also borrowed elements from my friend KatherineNotGreat's "Stuart Family Values," particularly Hook family's last name, so I can't take credit for that. It is intended to be a sequel to my other story "A Wendy's Farewell," but I think it does alright as a stand-alone story if you haven't read my other work. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy it, please don't forget to R&R! I love reviews! :D**

**~CaptainHooksGirl~**

**Oh, and in case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own _Peter Pan_ or any of its characters even though I really wish I did :P**

**An Awfully Big Adventure**

"Mr. Stuart?" No response. The young nurse in the steel-gray dress and starched white apron tiptoed further into the room, laying a gentle hand on the old man's arm. He stirred slightly. The nurse smiled. "Mr. Stuart, your son is here is here to see you."

Forget-me-not blue eyes fluttered open. They were tired, troubled eyes that seen a lifetime of sorrows, yet there was a hint of merriment that hid within their depths, for he had found his happy thought many years ago in his late wife, Wendy Moira Angela Stuart. It was she who had kept him young when he so often felt aged beyond his physical appearance; indeed, even now, if one looked only at his eyes, he could easily mistake James Matthew Stuart for a much younger man.

The former captain lifted his lips in a tired smile, crinkling the old crow's feet situated on either side of his face. "Show him in."

The nurse gave a quick nod and politely excused herself from the room. She paused just outside the doorway where a young man in naval uniform was waiting. She offered him a sympathetic smile. "He's been a bit confused lately. Talks about flying and fairies and pirates and whatnot."

The officer smiled, a twinkle of laughter in his forest-green eyes. There was something different about those eyes, something as wild and untamed as the sea itself, a boyish mischief that had never quite faded even as the boy had become a man. It was as if he knew a secret, a secret most wonderful and yet a secret that he was not quite willing to tell.

"It's a good thing you came when you did." The nurse's smile faltered, her voice dropping to a mere whisper. "I'm afraid he doesn't have much longer."

He frowned, suddenly serious, and gave the nurse a polite nod of dismissal before stepping quietly into the room and closing the door behind him.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come." The old captain's voice, once firm and commanding, now sounded weak and defeated.

The young man swallowed back a lump in his throat. It pained him to think that the man he'd come to call father still doubted his loyalty. His voice was barely a whisper. "Of course I came…How could I not?"

"Come now, Pan. Don't sound so disappointed. After all, this is the day you've been waiting for, is it not? The day the great Captain Hook finally meets his doom! You should be celebrating!" There was a roguish grin on the old man's face.

Peter was not amused. "Don't say that."

The captain sighed, his attempt to lighten the mood having proved ineffective. "Oh, do lighten up, boy. I am only jesting." He smiled ruefully. "It is my job to be the somber, brooding one."

"And I suppose I am to be the foolish, immature one?"

Hook grinned tiredly. "Well, one of us needs to be. Keeps you young, you know." He drew a sharp intake of breath as another wave of pain washed over him. He sighed. "So…Tell me of your most recent adventures, boy. How has life been at the academy?"

Though it was an obvious attempt to change the subject, Peter was grateful. Perhaps if they did not discuss it, it would not come to pass. Playing pretend had always been his favorite game. Indeed, he'd once had such a strong imagination that he'd been able to conjure up entire meals with just the power of his mind. Perhaps now if he could pretend that nothing was wrong, he'd be able to convince himself it was true. It was a small hope, he realized, but it was hope nonetheless. And he had to believe it would work because if it didn't…He shook his head.

"I have been well. It was a bit difficult at first—getting used to being ordered around by the other officers and such."

"Never did take well to authority, did you, Peter?"

The young man flashed a grin—that same boyish grin which had once been a taunt. The captain smiled. He was going to miss that insolent little brat.

"They've promoted me, you know. Soon I am to be a captain."

Hook raised a silver eyebrow. "A captain, you say? My, my…what has become of our dear Peter Pan? I daresay there's a pirate in you yet, boy!" He couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy as he studied the man in uniform at the foot of the bed. He himself—once a privateer for the crown—had had his official title revoked when the war had ended, having gone from patriot to pirate in the eyes of society nearly overnight. Still, there was a gleam of fatherly pride in his eyes. "You'll make a great captain someday."

The young man smiled sadly, barely meeting his adoptive father's gaze. "I learned from the best."

The old captain chuckled, closing his eyes. "So you did, boy. So you did."

Peter removed his naval officer's cap, raking his fingers through his short blonde curls. He walked over to the window that overlooked the busy streets of London. Below, a thousand tiny people in a thousand tiny cars hustled and bustled from one place to another. Some of them were going to work, others were going to school. And somewhere amid all the confusion and strife there were some who still believed in fairies, who dreamed of a far-away land where there were Indians and pirates and mermaids and never growing up. He wondered sometimes if he'd made the right choice. The sudden chiming of Big Ben told him that he didn't have much time before he had to be back at the base. He remembered a time when he had once lit upon the clock's giant face, perched on the hour hand as though he were a sparrow. The London sky had been clearer then, not streaked with smog as it was now. Sometimes at night he'd try to locate the star he'd once called home, but its light seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer each day. Perhaps it was because he was aging or perhaps it was because most children no longer believed. Either way, Neverland was dying, it seemed, and so was Hook. He swallowed hard. How he wished he could fly away now…How he wished he could forget…

The old captain's words brought him out of his reverie. "I recall from your letters that you were planning on an engagement—to a young woman by the name of Sylvia, if I'm not mistaken."

Peter wiped away a few tears he hadn't realized he'd shed and continued staring out the window. "Yes. She is the daughter of a merchant and has traveled to America twice. She was working as a military nurse when our ship was attacked by the Germans—that's how we met—but she also hopes to become a great novelist." He frowned. "She has already written one book, but the publisher turned her down. He said it was because he didn't think the book would sell, but I think it is because she is a woman." Then he smiled, suddenly wistful, daring to meet the captain's eyes. "Wendy would have liked her, I think."

Hook returned the smile. "Indeed. It sounds as though we may have another Red-Handed Jill on our hands." He shook his head in disbelief. "Peter Pan grown up and soon-to-be married…" He chuckled softly. "I'm not entirely certain the world is ready for that."

Peter's gaze dropped to the floor, his heart sinking. "I had hoped you would come to the wedding…"

"I will be there if I can," he promised. But they both knew very well that he couldn't.

Peter returned to staring out at the ash-gray London sky. "Maybe it's not too late," he whispered.

Hook knew where this was going. "Peter…"

"Maybe I could find a way to get you back to Neverland…"

"Peter…" There was a slight edge of irritation in his voice.

"The Indians might know how to heal you. Or maybe the fairies could—"

"PETER!"

The boy cringed. For a man on his deathbed, Hook was still surprisingly authoritative when he needed to be.

The captain sighed, feeling somewhat guilty for lashing out at the child. For he was, in Hook's mind, still just a boy. "Peter," he tried again—this time, more gently—"It is not possible for us to return. We haven't any fairy dust nor any way of contacting the fairies."

"They used to come to Kensington Gardens. Maybe I could—"

The old man held up his namesake appendage, its silvery gleam still as bright as the day he'd earned it in that fateful duel. "Peter, you have promised a woman your heart. You cannot simply leave her behind for an old fool like me."

But Peter's boyish stubbornness was not willing to let him give in just yet. "I shall take her with us!"

"No, Peter." There was an air of finality in his voice. "We can't go back…You know that." Peter opened his mouth to say something, but Hook cut him off before he could retort. "And even if we _could_, I wouldn't want to." Peter's shoulders slumped. "There is no point in living forever when you are as old as I am. Heaven knows I've cheated death far more times than I can remember and lived longer than most men could ever dream. I have lived a full life. Perhaps not the best life, but a full life nonetheless. I am tired now, Peter. I am old."

The former Fay child smiled sadly. "But not alone."

The captain returned the gesture with a grin of his own. "No, I suppose not."

A moment of silence passed between them, each lost in his own thoughts of another time in another place. Peter was the first one to break the quiet stillness which had settled in the room.

"You're not scared?"

The captain smirked. "What is death but the most glorious of all adventures? In all the time I was in Neverland, I searched and searched to find the secret to eternal youth—to immortality—yet even in Neverland death was inescapable. Like that horrid crocodile, it seemed to follow wherever I went, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to strike…Now I know that the secret for which I sought so desperately was not a fountain of youth or elixir of life but the Living Water of which He spoke. 'Oh, death where is thy sting? Oh, grave where is thy victory?'" The iron claw shook with conviction, as if defying the very embodiment of Death himself. He smiled contentedly at the boy who had once been his enemy. "I am ready for that final great adventure now, Peter. And I am not afraid."

"BUT_ I_ AM!" The words were out before he'd even realized he'd said them. "It's not FAIR!" he screamed. "First Tink and then Wendy then Mr. Smee and now you!" There were tears pouring down his cheeks. At the moment he more closely resembled a child in a temper tantrum than a high-ranking member of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, but he didn't care. "IT'S NOT FAIR! You may not be afraid, but I AM!" He sunk to his knees at the bedside. "I am," he whispered.

"What's this?" The bedridden captain feigned surprise. "The great and mighty Peter Pan is _afraid_? Well, that certainly is a first! The Pan that _I_ once knew laughed in face of danger and mocked death without a second thought. What has gotten into you, boy?"

Peter sniffed, staring up at the only father he'd ever known through tear-filled eyes and looking very much like the same scared little boy who'd once cried over an ornery shadow. Wendy's words were a distant memory now, as though they had been spoken to another boy in another lifetime, yet even now, he swore he could hear her whispering them softly. _Boy, why are you crying? _And perhaps she was. Peter gave a half-hearted laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. "I grew up."

The aged captain lifted his good hand, trembling yet strong, and laid it on the boy's shoulder. "Yes, you most certainly have." He lifted the young man's chin with his hook, forcing him to maintain eye contact rather than staring at the floor. "You have grown into a fine young man, Peter. And it has been an honor serving as your adversary, your friend, and your father." He struggled to prop himself up into a sitting position so that he could be sure the boy saw he meant every word he was about to say. "I am proud of you, my son."

Peter broke down completely. Wrapping his arms around his father's bony frame, he cried into his former rival's shoulder, tears soaking through the thin nightshirt that had replaced his glorious robes of gold and crimson. And once more he found himself drifting back into the past, remembering the day he had first decided to grow up—the day of Wendy's funeral—when he had first sought comfort in the arms of the man who had once been his mortal enemy and become his adoptive son. But this time it was different. This time it was Hook who would be leaving, and try as he might, he could not make things better; for the comfort of a dying man to the ones he is leaving behind is scarcely a comfort at all.

"I don't want you to go," Peter sobbed brokenly.

"I know, boy. I know." If the captain was losing his composure, he hid it well, but there was a slight crack in his voice that gave him away.

"T-tell Wendy I said hello, won't you?" he choked.

The captain smiled through his tears, his breathing unnaturally shallow. It wouldn't be much longer now. "Of course," he whispered. "Goodbye, Peter." He pulled back from the embrace and laid down again, resting his head on the pillows, his dark mane of curls now a halo of finely spun silver thread. He closed his eyes.

"No! No, please! Please don't go! I want to go with you!" It was a childish wish, he knew, but he wished it nonetheless, for at heart, he was still a child.

"No…Peter…you must…live." His breaths were ragged, but his eyes were serene, as if he were looking into heaven's gates themselves. Perhaps Wendy was there, waiting. "You see…" he whispered, "to live…to live will be awfully big adventure." Thus perished James Hook.

Peter could only stare at the still form that lay in the bed before him, so like the aged captain and yet, so completely different…so completely _empty_…so devoid of life. "Hook?" he asked, a little unsure.

No response.

"_Hook?_" He could hear the panic creeping into his voice.

Nothing.

"FATHER!" His screams turned to tears as the realization came that the captain was truly gone. And no matter how much he clapped his hands or believed in fairies or pretended it wasn't true, he could not bring him back. He wept like a child then, as a little boy weeps who has lost his best friend. And perhaps Neverland was weeping, too, for even here in dreary London where the boy's emotions held no sway, the skies had darkened considerably, splattering the sidewalk in a cold and unforgiving rain. Peter wiped the tears from his eyes, not caring that he was staining the sleeve of his best new uniform.

That's when he noticed it—a tiny speck of gold against the stark white sheets. Curious, he reached for it. It was a small sailor's pin he'd been given to denote his rank as future captain. He moved to reattach it to his collar but stopped short. With shaking hands, he brushed a stray silver curl aside and carefully tacked the tiny emblem onto the neckline of the old man's nightshirt. Then, smiling, he stood to leave and walked quietly to the door. Taking one last glance over his shoulder, Captain Peter Stuart gave a quick salute. He could have sworn he head the old captain laugh.


End file.
